Close My Eyes (Take It In)
by MoonytheMarauder1
Summary: A collection of drabbles that have nowhere else to go. First: Charlie is gone, and Draco is left to regret. / Astoria takes Draco out to see the stars.
1. Come Back To Me

**A/N: Hey y'all! This was written for Hogwarts. Some angsty CharlieDraco. :)**

**Amulets and Talismans Task 9: Write about someone being burnt (physically, emotionally, or metaphorically)**

**Word Count: 1000**

**WARNINGS: Language, injury.**

**Note: This is a Muggle/Modern!AU**

**Thanks to Lucy for beta-ing!**

**Enjoy!**

"Shit."

Draco retracted his hand from the pan he'd just tried to pick up, kicking himself for forgetting it was on the stove. He cradled the injured limb against his chest as he hurried to the sink. He switched the tap on and held his hand beneath the cool water, biting his lip as it soothed the red skin. It would blister, he was sure, but it wasn't a bad enough burn to require medical attention.

After a few minutes, Draco belatedly recalled the dinner that was on the stove. With another muttered curse, he grabbed a cloth so he could remove the meal from the heat. The meat inside looked a bit more blackened than he'd intended, but it would do.

Draco sat down to dinner five minutes later. He favored his left palm and winced slightly at the taste of the food, but all of that was better than thinking about the one thing that truly bothered him.

He couldn't believe he'd let Charlie walk away.

As soon as the thought entered his mind, Draco banished it. There was no point in dwelling on that now; Charlie had made his choice, and Draco had made his.

Still, there were days when he couldn't help but wonder what might have changed if he'd just run after the older man. Would Charlie have come back into the flat? Would they have talked things out? Would things be better? All Draco knew was that, at the very least, he wouldn't be tormented by what if.

Draco glanced down at the shiny red burn on his palm. His chest tightened, remembering the feel of similar burns on his lover's skin—on his chest and arms, his thighs and neck… all because Charlie Weasley took his responsibility to fight fires very seriously. Draco had traced the smooth patches of skin on countless nights, awed by the strength each one conveyed. He'd go to sleep wrapped up in those arms, would wake to a warm body beside him.

Now all he had was a cold mattress and memories.

* * *

Charlie's fingers combing through his hair brought Draco back to consciousness. He opened his grey eyes and found brown ones staring straight back at him. He raised an eyebrow at Charlie sleepily.

"Enjoying the view?"

"Immensely," Charlie told him, entirely too pleased. "You're beautiful when you sleep."

Draco snorted and sat up against the pillows. "And you're unbearably sappy in the mornings."

Charlie just laughed and shrugged. "Guilty as charged. What are your plans for the day?"

Slowly untangling his legs from Charlie's, Draco answered disinterestedly. "The usual." Which meant, of course, that he'd go to his father's office and do a horrifying amount of paperwork until he was allowed to return home. "Nothing exciting."

Ever the morning person, Charlie threw the duvet off of them both as he stood to get dressed. Draco hissed as the cold air assaulted him, his toes curling. His lover only grinned cheekily.

"We could make today exciting," came the hopeful reply. "We could take an evening, have dinner, watch a movie… disgustingly romantic stuff."

Draco looked up, surprised. "You want to?"

Charlie crossed his arms over his thick, muscled chest, and looked down at Draco through a mop of unruly red curls. "Wouldn't have suggested it, otherwise."

Draco bit back a laugh. "Fine, then. Disgustingly romantic evening it is, Weasley."

* * *

After dinner, Draco showered and climbed into bed with a book, planning on some late night reading.

Like always, he turned on the telly before he does, subconsciously switching it to one of the dramas Charlie liked so much. It's a painful reminder, but the background noise was familiar. It made a part of him feel less alone.

After about twenty minutes of reading and having his mind wander for the hundredth time, Draco set the book aside with a huff of annoyance. He tugged at his pale blond hair with agitated fingers, helpless in his grief and regret.

He reached towards his mobile, just like every night. He turned it on and let his thumb hover over the call icon beside Charlie's name, just like usual. But tonight his palm was throbbing, and it was as though his heart was synced to it.

It hit him, suddenly, that he was going to be miserable forever unless he finally did something about it. And, after all… Charlie had told him to call.

He let his thumb hit the button and listened to the ring with bated breath.

* * *

"Draco, this is ridiculous—I don't want to dance around you just because someone might snap a picture."

It was a fair statement, Draco knew. But he also knew the social rejection that would be thrown his way if anyone caught wind of the fact that he was dating a man decidedly not upper class. The Parkinsons, Goyles, Crabbes—they weren't the most pleasant of people, but he'd worked damn hard to get into their social circles as a child. He couldn't just throw all that away.

"You'll be singing a different tune when our faces are plastered on every tabloid in England." He didn't look up from his book at Charlie. "Don't wear a hole in the floor."

Charlie stopped his angry pacing, but his anger was far from cooled. "Are you ashamed of me?" he demanded. "Because we've had this fight every night for weeks, and I really can't come up with any other explanation."

Draco did set his book down. "I'm not."

"Do you love me?"

"Of course I do."

Charlie ran his hands through his hair, distressed. It almost broke Draco's heart to see it. "Then you must care more about your reputation than me. Is that it?"

No words were forthcoming. The laugh following Draco's silence was cold, disappointed—and completely broke Draco's heart.

"Fine. Fine." Draco's eyes widened as he watched Charlie collect his things in that reckless way of his, but Draco didn't stop him. "Call me if you come to your senses."

* * *

"Draco?"

Relief. "Charlie. Yes… it's me."


	2. Starlight

**A/N: Hey y'all! Have some DracoAstoria fluff. :)**

**Media Studies Task 1: Write a fluffy story**

**Word Count: 396**

**Enjoy!**

"Remind me why we're out here?"

Draco's tone is one of annoyance, but he doesn't really mind being outside with Astoria. Even lying on the ground in the middle of the night is bearable when she is holding his hand.

Astoria laughs, the sound relaxing Draco like nothing else can. "I just wanted to look at the stars," she says simply. "They're beautiful, aren't they?"

Draco looks at her for a moment, letting a silent beat pass. His lover's face is pale in the moonlight, and her blonde hair is fanned out around her head like an angel's halo. She is all he's ever wanted, and the sudden realization of the fact leaves him breathless for a moment.

"I've seen more beautiful things," he manages at last.

She rolls her eyes at him, smirking at his words. She doesn't believe him, he knows. It doesn't matter. He'll prove his devotion to her one day.

Then Astoria rolls over suddenly, propping herself up on her elbows. She blows the hair out of her face and grins at Draco, who is still on his back. "You're thinking too much," she whispers. "I took you out here so we could just be... happy. Content."

As she speaks, her fingers trail up his arm. It's been several years since the war, so he isn't as self-conscious about his Dark Mark as he once was. Still, it's only Astoria who gets to see it now—and only Astoria who has ever touched it. She has never raked her nails across it with revulsion, her mouth has never twisted down in disgust when she sees it. In the early days of their relationship, she would touch it gently, and the sadness in her blue eyes obvious. Her pity is gone now; her fingers trail past the mark like they would any other part of his body.

Draco shivers nonetheless.

"I'm happy with you," he admits. "Really, I am."

Astoria bends her head until her lips are a breath away from his own. Her thick hair falls in curtains on either side of her face, trapping Draco's beneath hers. Her free hand comes up to cup his face. "I'm happy with you too," she whispers.

Suddenly, Draco doesn't need the stars; there is plenty of starlight in Astoria's eyes.

He tilts his head up just so and captures her lips with his own.


	3. Dancing on Glass

**A/N: Hey, y'all! Just a bit of Tonks&Charlie friendship. :)**

**Transfiguration Task 3: Write about having a rare skill or condition.**

**Word Count: 798**

**Enjoy! **

Nymphadora Tonks stared at herself in the mirror, her grey eyes swimming with tears. She really should have been in Charms right now, but she couldn't face her peers right now. Charlie's words, muttered in a burst of bitterness after one of their legendary arguments, echoed in her head.

"_Do _you _even know who you are?"_

He'd meant to make her question her path in life, the person she was meant to be, but those words had struck an insecurity that had been cropping up in her mind since the beginning of that year: if she could change any part of her face, any part of her body at will, then who was she really? What eye color would remind people of her? What hair style? Or would she be an anonymous name years in the future, a name that no one could attach to a face?

For a second, she dropped all her Morphs. Her bubblegum-pink hair faded back to its natural mousy brown, and her eyes darkened until they were the same dark grey as her mother's. _This_ was the person she'd been born as.

But the girl in the mirror looked so miserable and lost. This wasn't Dora Tonks.

Dora looked away from her reflection angrily. Within a second, her hair had turned a shade of midnight-blue, her eyes lightened, her nose became spotted with freckles—but this wasn't her, either. This wasn't the skin she wanted to walk around in forever.

At least there wasn't anyone else in the dormitory to hear when she shattered the mirror.

* * *

"You've been down lately." Charlie's voice was certain and filled with worry. He sat down beside Dora as he always did, blatantly ignoring the fact that this table was for Hufflepuffs. "Is it about yesterday? You know I'm sorry. Being an Auror would be brilliant, even if it isn't as cool as working with dragons." He hesitated, a frown crossing his freckled features. "Or did we argue about that last week."

Despite herself, Tonks snorted. "It wasn't really you, mate. I've just been thinking about… things." She bit her lip and twisted a strand of pumpkin-orange hair around her finger.

"Uh-oh." Charlie's brown eyes narrowed even as he reached for the pumpkin juice. "What about?"

She considered telling him to drop it. He would if asked; Charlie wasn't one to press matters that were uncomfortable to the other party. But even though it wasn't technically his business, Charlie was usually good at making her feel better—and she _hated_ feeling miserable.

"How would you find me in a crowd?" she asked the Gryffindor carefully.

The two fifth years eyed each other. "How do you mean?" Charlie asked slowly.

"If there was a crowd of people and you needed to find me, what would you look for?"

"Erm." Charlie looked caught off guard. "Brightly colored hair. A Weird Sisters t-shirt. Those spiky Muggle boots you're so fond of."

"What if I was Morphed to have a natural hair color? Or I wasn't wearing those things?"

"Merlin, Tonks, I dunno." Charlie's tone was flustered. "Does it matter?"

"Yes! No. I—I don't know." Dora let her head fall into her hands. She felt like she was lost at sea with no land in sight, like she was walking on a glass floor that was cracking underfoot. What identity did she have if nothing felt like it would fit her forever?

"I just… When people hear your name, there's a picture that immediately comes to mind. They'd know your face. But it's not like that for me." Her hands pulled at her hair. The worst part of all of this was that there were no other Metamorphmagi to vent to. No one to share her struggle. "Who am I?" she muttered.

All of a sudden, Charlie shoved her shoulder—_hard_. Dora yelped as one of her elbows slid off the table.

"Tonks!" Charlie exclaimed. "You're Tonks! There's no one face that's yours, because they're all yours. Every hair and eye color, every face shape, every height—it's what makes you unique. And no one will ever forget you because you're unforgettable. Some aspect of your appearance will always stick in their mind. Honestly, Tonks… the best thing about you is that you're such a colorful person that no one look can define you."

He beamed at her when he finished his little speech, completely proud of himself. And Tonks found her eyes watering, because who knew Charlie Weasley could be so sweet?

She tackled him into a bear hug. "Thanks," she muttered into his shoulder, too choked up to say anything else.

Charlie Hughes her back just as enthusiastically. "You're welcome." A pause, and then— "Does this mean you'll go easy on me the next time we play Quidditch?"

She snorted. "Not a chance, Weasley."


	4. Home

**A/N: Hey y'all! Have some SiriusKingsley. :)**

**Word Count: 486**

**Enjoy!**

When Kingsley opened his eyes, he was momentarily surprised to realize that Sirius was in his bed.

The other man was still sleeping soundly, the sunlight from the window falling over his still figure. Kingsley propped himself up on his elbow to better see. Sirius' shoulder-length black hair was spread across the pillow and his jaw shadowed by early-morning stubble; he was absolutely breathtaking.

As Kingsley woke up, it slowly dawned on him that they could _do_ this now. They could fall asleep in bed together, in his flat, because Sirius was no longer a wanted man. He was no longer forced to hide in his hated childhood home—he was free. Kingsley could feel his excitement mounting; he could only imagine how Sirius felt.

Speaking of, the man in question was beginning to wake up. He grumbled as he rolled over to face Kingsley, cracking open one grey eye. "Mmm. Morning."

Kingsley grinned and pressed a kiss to Sirius' forehead. "Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. Nice night?"

Those grey eyes narrowed in half-hearted indignation. "Would've been better if it'd been" —a yawn interrupted him— "longer."

Laughing, Kingsley just shook his head at his boyfriend. "You'll want to get up if you want to leave on time."

Sirius' body stilled. "...Why do I want to leave on time?"

"Well," Kingsley said slowly, "you said you'd like to be reinstated in the Auror program. There's paperwork for that, you know. Appointments to make. Interviews to be had."

"I get it." Sirius held up a hand and reluctantly sat up. The navy bedsheets slipped off of him, revealing his bare, tattooed chest. He stretched, and a moment of silence passed before he glanced nervously at the Ravenclaw. "I can't believe we're going to do this."

The atmosphere sobered. Sirius had told him months ago about his past ambitions to be an Auror—and how he'd barely gotten through training when he was arrested. His expression had been so pained at the dream lost that Kingsley's heart had broken for him—now, though, he had the chance to fix all of that. He could get his dream back.

Swallowing thickly as words fled him, Kingsley laced his fingers through Sirius'. He feared it was a poor method of comfort, but Sirius relaxed at the touch. He'd become increasing tactile since his escape from Azkaban, and touched seemed to ground him.

"Let's go," Kingsley said softly. "We've a big day ahead."

Sirius nodded. "Mmhmm." His grey eyes sparkled. "It'll be one to remember, I'm sure."

Kingsley couldn't help but agree. Great things were just around the corner—they could both feel it. Sirius was getting his future back, and Kingsley... for the first time in a long time, this little London flat felt like home.

As they set out into the city, a million possibilities open to them, the large grin n Sirius' face told Kingsley that he felt the same.


	5. Chained

**A/N: Hey, y'all! So… have some angsty RemusLucius, with a smattering of Wolfstar. Royalty!AU**

**Word Count: 518**

**WARNINGS: Arranged marriage and its angst.**

**Enjoy!**

"Time's almost up."

Remus didn't look up from his tightly clasped hands, nor did he turn towards the doorway, where he knew Lucius would be standing. "...I know."

He expected his fiance to leave after that, but to Remus' surprise, Lucius didn't budge. A moment of silence passed, and then Lucius spoke once more. "You know, most people would be glad to marry me."

Something hot and horrible boiled Remus' blood at those words, but he forced his anger down. "I'm not most people," he said stiffly. "Now, could you leave? I'd like to enjoy my last few minutes of freedom."

Another brief silence. "I promise that you'll be safe."

Remus closed his eyes. He knew that. He knew that this was the entire reason behind the marriage: a union of kingdoms. A way to unite two nations against a common enemy. Knowing this didn't make the marriage any easier.

But he couldn't say all of that to Lucius. "It's not my safety I was questioning," he bit out, some of his venom creeping into his voice. "It was my happiness."

Footsteps sounded, and then Lucius Malfoy himself was kneeling in front of Remus, who stayed stubbornly on the bed. Lucius' blue eyes were unreadable, and that, perhaps, was what Remus hated about him most of all. Lucius reached out and covered Remus' clasped hands with his own.

"It doesn't have to be like that," he murmured. "We can find happiness. We're both powerful, successful men, beloved by our people… We could work well together."

Remus ripped his hands from Lucius' grasp and stood abruptly, moving away from the bed. Tears pricked at his amber eyes, and his voice was a low growl when he spoke. "I may stand by your side and wear your ring, but you will never have my heart."

That particular item, Remus thought with a pang, belonged to someone back home. A man with shoulder-length black hair instead of blond, a man with grey eyes instead of blue. A man full of mischief, not power.

What Remus wouldn't give to be back home with him.

Lucius came up from behind him and grasped each of Remus' shoulders. "We'll see about that, Remus."

Remus looked around the room with hate-filled eyes; he felt like he was just another thing to be added to Lucius' collection here in the manor. But, with defeat, he recognized that this was his kingdom's best chance.

As much as he missed Sirius—as much as he would always love Sirius—his head had always been stronger than his heart.

"You'll learn to like it here," Lucius murmured. "Life will be so much better here."

Remus closed his eyes. He was about to retort, but then a voice called from the hallway and his mouth went dry. It was time to sign his life away.

Lucius removed his hands from Remus' shoulders and held out one for Remus to take. Bracing himself, Remus gingerly placed his hand in Lucius'.

The older man tugged him out of the room, and Remus couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just locked himself in a cage.

**A/N:**

**Godric Says: 4. "Time's almost up." / "...I know."**

**Fortnightly: Pride Booth: 1. Write about a masc character who is gay.**

**Fortnightly: Unfortunate Escapes: Reptile Room: (word) venom**

**Capture the Flag: 6. (setting) Malfoy Manor**

**Herbology: Plot 2: 7. "I promise that you'll be safe."**

**Triple Threat: "It doesn't have to be like that."**

**366: 66. Defeat**

**Insane: 797. (trope) arranged marriage**


	6. Seriously Smitten

**A/N: Hey, y'all! It's been ages, honestly, since I've written this pairing… but enjoy some RemusTonks. Also, Remus was "first amused, then impressed, then seriously smitten by the young witch"? Demiromantic, and no one can convince me otherwise. **

**Word Count: 678**

**Note: I'm not quite counting this as a warning, because this isn't tied to his romantic orientation, but Remus does question whether it's a good thing that he's falling in love here, or if he's deserving of it. So if that's going to bother you, best back out now.**

**Enjoy!**

Remus sat in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place, his head in his hands and a cup of tea sitting between his elbows. His head was pounding painfully, but he didn't bother trying to locate a potion to help; he felt he deserved the pain after the way he'd drained the bottle last night.

Besides, the pain was familiar. The new feelings cropping up inside him were not.

"Well, you look miserable this morning. Fun night last night?"

Remus winced as the chipper voice cut through the silence. He raised his gaze until his amber eyes met Nymphadora's—hers were violet today. Very pretty.

He resisted the urge to tell her so and instead said, "Hardly. I think the drink had more fun than I did, in all honesty."

His words were followed by a snort, and Remus' lips twitched with quiet pride. The next thing he knew, Tonks was pulling out the chair opposite Remus and plopping herself into the seat.

"Misery likes company," she explained when he raised a brow at her. Then, from seemingly nowhere, she pulled out a chocolate bar and slid it over to Remus. "That ought to make you feel better. Don't you crave the stuff?"

Remus glanced down at the packaging and bit back a laugh. A Cadbury bar. "For good reason," he protested weakly. He smiled gratefully at her and opened it. "Thank you."

She smiled at him in return, and Remus tried to stomp down the affection rising within him. He was half-terrified of this interaction; it had only been yesterday when he realized that he, at least, had left friendship behind.

"So," Dora said slowly, drawing the word out. "What was the reason for your indulgence, Professor Lupin? You're not one to drink in excess."

Well, he could hardly tell her that he feared these new feelings, that she was shaping up to be his first romantic love. Because that's what it had to be, wasn't it? James had certainly described the emotion enough during their school years. And the way he felt… it was different than when Tonks had first introduced herself to him.

So he decided on a half-truth. "Mmm. Lost another job yesterday."

"Oh, bugger." Her violet eyes narrowed in anger. "I'm sorry, Remus. I'm sure you were more than capable."

Embarrassingly overqualified for the job would have been more accurate, but Remus didn't correct her. "It's all right," he muttered, staring down at his tea. "Things were never going to work from the start."

Tonks pulled her brows down into a frown, and indignation colored her voice when she spoke. "It should have, though."

Ah, the other reason Remus was terrified of falling for her. "People don't care about that, Nymphadora."

"It's _Tonks,_ as you bloody well know, Remus. And people do care—I do! The entire Order does!"

Remus broke off a square of chocolate and popped it in his mouth to avoid answering. Once upon a time, he'd been used to those declarations of faith, but a devastating betrayal and twelve years alone had made him realize how flimsy those promises really were.

But Tonks seemed to sense his hesitation. She reached out a hand and covered his own with it, her thumb bravely tracing one of his scars. "Give yourself more credit," she demanded. "You're a good person, Remus, and people care about you." She hesitated briefly, then dragged her spare hand through her pink hair. "In some cases, they do more than just _care_."

Remus stilled. He wasn't entirely sure if she was implying what he hoped she was, but he kept his mouth shut for fear of getting it wrong. He did, however, turn his hand so their palms were touching—even if the movement was shaky and unsure.

But Tonk's violet eyes lit up, and she bit her lip as a grin overtook her face. She looked back at Remus and sent him a wink. He felt his face heat up, and though he wasn't sure if he wanted to pursue these feelings, Remus sent a hesitant smile back to her.

**A/N**

**Godric Says: 5. "Things were never going to work from the start."**

**Herbology: Individual: (food) chocolate**

**Capture the Flag: (pairing) RemusTonks**

**Fortnightly: Pride Booth: 7. Write about a character who identifies as aromantic (demiromantic)**

**Fortnightly: Unfortunate Escapes: The Austere Academy: (pairing) RemusTonks**

**366: 62. Crave**

**Insane: 720. (plot point) a hangover**


	7. Unease

**A/N: Hey, y'all! Have some angsty FenrirLyall with some hurt/comfort LyallHope.**

**Word Count: 858**

**WARNINGS: Mentioned character death**

**Enjoy!**

"_I believed you!" Lyall's voice echoed throughout the silent chamber. It was pitch black, but he knew Fenrir was in here—knew it in his bones. _

"_That was your first mistake." The voice was cold, unfeeling… so unlike the Fenrir that Lyall knew. _

_Or rather, the one he'd thought he knew. _

"_Fenrir." Lyall stepped forwards, further into the darkness. His heart was beating wildly; he couldn't reconcile his lover with the monster who was wanted by the Ministry—the monster who killed a dozen children the previous night. Lyall shouldn't be there—he knew it was dangerous—but he was desperate for answers. "You said it hadn't changed you. You said it never would."_

"_I did," Fenrir agreed. He was still hidden by the darkness. "But I didn't know then how addictive it was, this... freedom. This power."_

_Lyall squinted into the darkness, dread forming in the pit of his stomach. He barely recognized the voice of his lover; a stranger might as well have been speaking to him. "It's a curse, Fenrir. It's done nothing but hurt you."_

"_No." Fenrir's breath was suddenly on Lyall's face, and the tawny-haired man stumbled back in surprise, only to be stopped by Fenrir's strong hands. "It's given me a power I never had before. I'm respected now, paid attention to. And do you know why?"_

_Shaken, all Lyall could do was shake his head. _

_Fenrir guided him backwards, until Lyall was directly under a shaft of light. Just enough of it was cast on Fenrir to allow Lyall to see the terrible grin blossoming across his face. "It's because I can play god now, Lyall," he whispered. "I choose who lives, who dies… who's changed." His eyes glinted horribly. "The world is at my mercy."_

_With an alarmed cry, Lyall wrenched himself from Fenrir's grip and stumbled backwards. "You're not Fenrir," he gasped out. "My Fenrir would never say such things."_

"_Oh, I'm the same Fenrir." A short, cruel laugh. "Just stronger."_

_Lyall's hands balled into fists. He was shaking; with fear or fury, he wasn't sure. "You're not," he said in a low voice. "You're a monster," he spat. "Soulless, evil, deserving nothing but death!"_

_The smile was wiped from Fenrir's face, and the expression that was left was so frightening that Lyall wished the grin would return. "You'll regret that one day," Fenrir promised, his voice a low growl. "I'll make sure you pay for that."_

* * *

Lyall Lupin woke up with a gasp, sitting up and gulping in air. He turned to see Hope in bed beside him, her amber eyes blinking slowly open.

She squinted at him. "Are you okay?" she asked in a voice hoarse from sleep. She lifted a hand to his shoulder. "Darling, you're shaking."

Lyall looked at his wife. She was so different from his last lover. Her hands were delicate where Fenrir's had been rough; her face was round and his had been more square. But the biggest difference of all was that her eyes were undeniably human; no malicious hunger lingered there.

He released a shuddering breath. "Yes," he murmured. "It was just a dream."

Hope was sitting up though, grunting a bit as she fought against the weight in her abdomen. "Your boy is heavy," she teased as she reached over him to grab Lyall's wand. She handed it to him without a word.

Grateful for the silent permission, Lyall cast a quick _lumos_ charm. Hope dropped her head onto his shoulder, and Lyall placed an arm around her. His other hand found her belly; their child responded to his touch by kicking at his hand.

Hope turned and smoothed back Lyall's hair. "What happened, love?"

For a moment, he debated lying about the nature of the dream. But Hope knew his history, and he'd never lied to her. "I was dreaming about Fenrir," he admitted. "The last time I saw him, to be exact."

A moment of silence passed before Hope said, "You shouldn't be so hard on yourself for loving him."

"I don't," Lyall said immediately. "I just wish I hadn't… that I'd been there for him, somehow." He sighed heavily. "Loving him… do I regret it? Yes. Would I do it again?" He stared long and hard at the duvet. "Probably."

Hope tilted her head up so that she could kiss the underneath of his jaw. "That's okay," she murmured. "You're mourning; you're allowed to mourn him."

He looked down at her suddenly, afraid that she thought that he loved her less. "I love you, Hope. Fenrir has never taken away from that."

Those large amber eyes—so captivating, so beautiful—sparkled. "I know," Hope told him. "I know. Believe me, I know." She kissed him again. "Remember, you can have more than one love. And besides, I know I have your heart."

Overcome with emotion, Lyall took his wife in his arms and leaned back against the pillows. He whispered to her until she fell back asleep, but he couldn't help but keep one hand on their child. He couldn't help but feel uneasy as he remembered the last words Fenrir had spoken to him.

_I'll make sure you pay for that._

**A/N:**

**Godric Says: 3. "I believed you!" / "That was your first mistake."**

**Herbology: Plot 2: 1. "Are you okay?"**

**Capture the Flag: 2. (item) wand**

**Fortnightly: Unfortunate Escapes: The Miserable Mill: (pairing) slash**

**366: 68. Delicate**

**Insane: 229. (dialogue) "Do I regret it? Yes. Would I do it again? Probably."**


	8. Tranquility

**A/N: Hey, y'all! I had to try out some JamesRemus… so have some fun with emotional hurt/comfort/fluff. **

**Survival Studies Task 4: Write about trying to heal another person.**

**Word Count: 800**

**Note: This takes place in a world without the Wolfsbane potion. **

**Enjoy!**

"Remus." James' voice broke through the fog in Remus' brain. "Remus. Come back to me."

A rattling breath escaped the werewolf, and his face scrunched as he slowly regained consciousness. He cracked an eye open, wincing as the pain of the previous night's transformation caught up with him. James' face swam into focus, his wide hazel eyes full of concern behind his round glasses. Remus wished he could muster up enough strength to cup James' jaw, to assure him that he was fine, but he was too shattered.

"Mmm here," he murmured. His throat was sore and scratchy, and his voice was hoarse. James had understood, though.

"I've got you, love," the dark-haired man promised with surprising vehemence. "Just breathe. I'll have you fixed up in no time."

Remus tried to smile, but it turned into more of a grimace. Years ago, he'd have protested the way his partner gently cradled the back of his head as he lifted it so he could slide a pillow beneath, but he'd learned that James wouldn't take no for an answer. And besides, they were thirty now; James was well-practiced at post-moon care.

Remus licked his lips, stubbornly ignoring the bitter taste of blood on his tongue. "How long… long was I out?" he croaked.

James didn't stop his movements. He used his wand to dampen a flannel on hand and pressed it against a cut on Remus' forehead. "Since sunrise? A few hours. I've bound the worst of the wounds."

A small smile graced Remus' face. "Thank you."

James' responding smile was quick, but also a little sad, like he wished Remus didn't feel the need to thank him. Of course, Remus knew by now that James didn't mind caring for him after the full moons, but it still baffled him to know that his boyfriend hadn't tired of it after all these years.

A few more minutes passed in silence, James' hands remaining steady and gentle throughout it all. Remus lived for this touch; he'd longed for it his entire life, longed to feel someone's love for him through their hands. And now that he had it, he could scarcely believe it.

His amber eyes flickered up to meet James', and Remus licked his lips, trying to summon up the courage and the strength to get his words out. "Do you… do you remember what you asked me last week? And I said I needed time to think about it?"

James' lips twitched almost imperceptibly. "It'd be pretty difficult to forget my marriage proposal, Moons. Yeah, I remember."

He met Remus' eyes then, and there was so much hope shining in them—not worry, despite the fact that Remus hadn't agreed right away. James had anticipated the space Remus would need, but seemed completely confident that Remus would say yes.

Maybe it was the pain and stress of his transformation—he tended to be a little overly-emotional the morning after—but Remus felt his eyes begin to water as a wave of affection and gratitude for James washed over him.

"Thank you for waiting," he croaked. "I know it's not easy, sometimes, to be involved with… with me."

James' voice sounded choked. "You know it's never any trouble. Any insecurities you have, any odd quirks or bad habits… they're yours and I love them."

Remus closed his eyes and let those words wash over him, completely overwhelmed. "That's why I'm trying to say yes," he managed to get out, "so… shut up and say you'll still marry me?"

Letting out a laugh, James dropped a kiss on Remus' lips before helping him into a sitting position. "Do you even have to ask? Of course I will."

Before Remus could do more than grin, James was pressing a small vial to his lips. "Blood replenisher," he informed Remus. "You'll feel better once you drink it."

Drink it Remus did, and indeed, his head felt clearer as the potion made its way through his system. Soon enough, he was staring up at James, wondering how he'd gotten so lucky.

Remus' eyes traveled to the bedroom window, where sunlight was struggling through heavy curtains; the bright light always aggravated his eyes the day after the full moon. A couple streams of sunlight managed to get through, however, and they fell upon the bed, warming Remus' hands and torso. There was something so peaceful about the warm and comfort of his bed, with James sitting beside him, that made his eyes grow heavy.

His partner noticed. "Go to sleep," James murmured. "I'll be here when you wake up."

Remus was too exhausted to respond, and he felt himself nodding off. Just before he lost consciousness completely, though, he felt James slide a ring onto his finger.

A small, contented smile crossed Remus' face just as he fell asleep.


	9. Confident

**A/N: Hey, y'all! A tiny drabble to hold you over? I know I've been absent as of late, so sorry. :(**

**I'd love to expand on this one day. Maybe turn it into a 3k… we'll see. **

**Word Count: 479**

**Enjoy!**

"You're kidding me, right?" Oliver squirmed under Audrey's gaze, but her piercing blue eyes pinned him in place. "Oliver Wood, you're one of the most shameless people I know—are you really telling me that you can't ask Percy Weasley out?"

Frowning, Oliver pulled at the hem of his red sweatshirt. "It's not as easy as you're making it out to be," he mumbled. "I've known Percy since we were eleven, but I still can't read the man. He is the epitome of locked up emotion."

Audrey arched a brow. "So unlock it, Romeo. Take the plunge. Sweep him off his feet."

Privately, Oliver thought that Percy Weasley was the last person on earth who'd swoon. "And how, exactly, do you propose I do that?"

Audrey leaned back in her chair, smirking. They were in a little Muggle cafe, Oliver having called his friend there to discuss his crippling attraction to one red-haired Ministry official. Crippling because of the simple fact that whenever Oliver caught a glimpse of a tall, red-haired man, his head turned. It made Quidditch matches incredibly difficult, and Oliver's captain wasn't pleased with him.

Who better to snap him out of it than the all-knowledgeable Audrey?

And, indeed, she thought he was being ridiculous about the whole thing.

"Listen," she said to him, "Percy likes to feel appreciated. Just… call him up, invite him out for drinks, compliment his job a bit, and you have a successful first date!"

Oliver looked at her doubtfully. "I'm pretty sure he'd see through that." If there was one thing that Percy hated, it was an insincere compliment.

"_Oliver_." Audrey fixed him with a glare. "Stop finding excuses. Ever since I met you two years ago when you joined the team, you've talked nonstop about this man. _Percy's the sharpest knife in the drawer, that's for bloody certain. Percy Weasley is wicked with his wand. I've never known anyone as dedicated as him. He's the one who inspired me to work this hard to get into the big leagues._"

A flush covered his face as his teammate quoted his words back at him, but he had to admit that she had a point. He didn't want to be pining for the rest of his miserable existence.

But he'd been quiet for too long, apparently, because Audrey placed her palms flat on the table. "Look, Wood. If you don't tell this bloke how you really feel, I'll ring him up and do it for you."

Oliver looked at her in alarm. "You wouldn't."

Audrey scoffed. "Hell yes I would." She got up from the table, grabbed her coffee, and saluted him. "Go get your man."

He watched her walk out of the cafe, wondering whether he could channel her confidence for a single phone call.

Probably not, but Audrey was right about one thing: Nothing could stop Oliver Wood from trying.


End file.
